Resolution
by KilianaFelagund
Summary: Pre-series. It's December 31st. The temperature is wicked out and Dean goes out to run. What could go wrong? How will Sam take care of the care-giver? Mostly Dean and Sam, Some John at the end. (part of my 'Sam's Brother' verse) 16/sick!Dean 12/worried!Sam Rated T because I am paranoid.


If you haven't already. Check out my story 'Sam's Brother.' It is a Stanford era story about how Dean keeps looking after his brother and meets Jess and their friendship behind Sam's back. It is a work in progress, and ideas are always welcome. This story is from the same story line, earlier in the boys' lives though it can be a standalone easily.

Let me know that you think.

~Kiliana

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><p>There was snow on the ground nearly four inches thick in the small town Colorado. Sam was curled up in a chair wrapped in a quilt off the bed and staring longingly out the window. Dean was ignoring him, as usual.<p>

"Dad's not back yet." Sam whined for perhaps the thousandth time as far as Dean was concerned.

"hhhm." He replied nose still buried in his comic book.

"It's New Year's Eve. He is supposed to be home!" Whined the kid.

"Mhmm." Dean didn't flinch a muscle.

"D_ea_n!" Really it was a talent of Sam's that allowed him to turn Dean's name into an entire conversation. _Dean stop ignoring me. Dean stop reading your stupid comic book. Dean fix what's wrong here. Dean make Dad come back. Dean stop being annoying. _Dean rolled his eyes.

"Sammeeee!" he retorted drawing out the same in a high pitched whine to match his brother's.

"I do not sound like that." Sam whined.

"Dude. You so do." Dean retorted without looking away from his comic.

"Do not." Still a whine.

"Listen to yourself genius."

"I _am_!" Sam whined.

"No you're not. Shut-up and let me read." Said in his big-brother-knows-best-and-you-better-shut-up voice. Sam rolled his eyes extravagantly and Dean mentally prepped himself to be picking them back off the floor and screwing them back into his head in a moment. But Sam – for once – shut up.

For a few seconds.

"Dean. What are we going to do if Dad doesn't get back?" Sam asked and thank you for not whining.

"Latin. Eat. Sleep. The usual." Dean answered still attempting to be engrossed in the Green Arrow's daring rescue.

"Don't you have to do your training?" the annoying brat for remembering.

"Yeah…" Dean sighed flipping the book shut and shuffling over to his duffle to find his boots.

"What! But it is snowing." Sammy – whined.

"Sheesh. Stop whining." Dean growled. "And anyway Dad wouldn't take that as an excuse."

"I'm not whining and if you get sick you can't take care of me." Sam retorted only half whining.

Dean huffed angrily and chucked his boots at the door. The hit it with a hollow thunk. He snagged his dagger from his bed and shoved it into the waistband of his jeans. Stomping his way to the kitchen he grabbed the big ugly cheapest-mug-you-can-find-at-goodwill off the counter and filled it with water. That was shoved into the microwave and the last two packets of SwissMiss were torn out of the cabinet and tossed at the younger.

"Heat up the water. Make two chocolates. Wait for me to get back." He ordered and resumed shoving his feet into his well-worn boots.

Sam twisted his hands uneasily in the hemp of his shirt. "Dean, it's really cold out there." He said softly.

"Yep. I'll be back right as soon as I finish the six miles I need to do today." He tugged on his thinly lined jean jacket over his graphic tee and buttoned it up. The tattered cabled visor-beanie Sam had given him for Christmas was pulled on next. Just because it was from Goodwill at the beginning of the school year, or because the cables were coming undone in places, didn't mean it wasn't cool. Sam had hidden it for four months just to have a gift for Dean, and Dean loved it!

"Password Sam?"

"Um, 'Champagne is gross'." Sam answered after a moment of careful thought.

"How would you know?" Dean retorted.

"Cause it is like whisky with bubbles in it, so it's gross."

"Whatever. Why Champagne, why not something cool like-"

"Teenage mutant ninja turtles?" Sam piped up cutting him off.

"No!" Dean answered quickly.

"It's New Year's, so champagne it is." Sam answered smugly. Dean rolled his eyes. Such a dramatic little brother.

Then, armed with a knife, a jacket thinner than the motel quilts, torn jeans, and his tattered hat; Dean vanished through the door and into the falling snow leaving Sam alone in the very quiet room. Sam locked the door, checked the salt, and moved to finish the drinks.

An hour later there was a heavy thumping at the door.

"Password." He shouted snatching up the shot gun and hunkering down behind the couch.

"Champagne is gross, Sam. Open up, I'm a Deansicle."

Sam slid back the bolt and wrenched the door open before forcefully pulling in his shaking brother. Dean shoved a plastic bag in his arms with a stuttered order to put it on the counter. Sam set it on the floor by the door and locked the door before turning back to Dean.

Dean hadn't moved a muscle, actually, he was moving them all as he violently shivered.

His jacket was soaked and he was dripping all over the floor.

"Hey, give me your jacket." Sam asked 'nicely'.

Dean nodded but couldn't get his arms to move very fast. So Sam pulled the sodden jacket off from behind. Even at twelve he was starting to catch up with his brother in height, Dean only had four inches on him.

Dean fumbled with his frozen bootlaces before giving up and sinking into the kitchen chair.

"You okay?" Sam asked worriedly.

"Yeah, m'fine. It g-got c-c-cold w-when I t-t-t-turned ar-round at thr-ree mmmiles." Dean slurred through blue lips.

Sam frowned and grabbed his discarded quilt from the chair by the window. For a moment he stood uncertainly before setting it back down and going back to his brother. The ice was easily broken off the boots and they were slipped off of Dean's soaked socked feet. Sam set them by the door and pulled off said socks.

"Thanks." "Big and frozen"murmured.

"Can you feel anything?" Sam asked.

"Barely." Dean replied. Sam nodded and placed himself in front of his brother. "I was hoping you might get in the quilt in bed and I could bring you your hot chocolate so you can warm back up." Sam knew his brother well enough to know that ordering or even telling would get him nowhere. Dean responded badly to help on a good day. If it wasn't his idea when he was actually hurt, there was no way in hell he was going to do it. Dean nodded and tried to stand up. Only a shaking hand on the table and Sam's smaller hands on his cold arm kept him from face-planting.

"Can you get your wet clothes off?" Sam asked supporting the bigger brother over to the bed.

"mmmm, yeah." He replied. He almost could. The t-shirt proved to be too much to pull over his head so Sam snagged it and tugged it the rest of the way off. The Jeans were wet, heavy,stiff with ice, and altogether too much for his shaking hands to even unbutton but he determinedly struggled on.

"Dean, I could help maybe." Sam asked turning his big brown puppy eyes on high.

Dean's hands dropped numbly to his side and he nodded. The belt was off, the button undone, and the zipper down before he even registered Sam moving. Quickly Sam hooked his warm fingers over the waistband of his jeans and boxers. Dean's skin was cold, far too cold, and Sam's anxiety notched up one. He nudged them down slid them off Dean's cold hips. Dean shook all the move violently as his wet skin was exposed to the moderately warm air in the room. Sam placed his hands on dean's chest and pushed him down against the bed to slide the jeans the rest of the way off.

"Stay here and I'll grab you a dry pair of boxers." He said and Dean simply nodded lethargically. He returned quickly armed with boxers, grey sweats, and a kitchen towel. Since his brother was clearly going to be no help at all, he reversed the previous action to get the boxers and soft warm pants on his brother then with the towel, he dried Dean's chest, arms, and hair.

The quilt was abducted from its post by the window and soon Dean was bundled against the headboard he watched his brother with tired eyes as Sam raced to warm back up the hot chocolate.

His hands were still shaking when he stuck them out to grab the cup, but not bad enough to spill.

"Sit." He ordered still far too softly. But Sam did anyway.

"What is in the bag?" Sam piped up.

"Oh, the b-bag. Yeah. C-can you g-get that?" Sam hopped off the bed and retrieved the bag from the floor.

"It's j-just some s-stuff I g-got ye-yest-terday and h-hid." He muttered sheepishly.

He could have been growing elephant ears from the expression Sam turned on him. "What stuff?" He asked tackling the first knot of the first bag.

"umm… Happy New Year, Sammy." He replied hiding behind his mug as Sam's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"For _real_!" he exclaimed tearing the second and third bags off without even touching the knot.

"Yeah. I – I figured d-dad m-might be de-layed b-by the snow and I w-wanted you t-to get t-to celebrate t-the N-new y-year." He still wasn't looking at his brother from anymore then the corner of his eye.

Sam gingerly undid the last knot and pulled out of the sack a pair of fingerless black gloves, two books, and a candy bar.

"Dean!" he exclaimed in delight. The gloves were clearly used – like everything else they EVER bought – but they matched the stocking cap Dean had given him for Christmas. They went on immediately.

The first book was a book of 'silly goofy facts that you will never need to know' and the second was the biggest most complete bathroom reader of all times. Sam rolled his eyes and playfully punched at his shivering brother. Dean's pale blue lips twitched ever so slightly in glee at the reaction.

"Dude, so not cool." He – yes! No whining – said. But seeing as how he promptly opened the book and settled lengthways across the bed to be near Dean's huddled form, it must have been a little cool.

"Hey listen to this: Warning labels. Some things in life should go without saying, but is seems there's always someone who needs to be told not to eat a mattress." Sam giggled.

"One can of insect spray: 'Harmful to bees.' Ha. Duh! A lifesaving device: 'this is not a lifesaving device.' What?... On children's cough syrup: 'Do not drive or operate machinery."

"Dude." Dean croaked from his nest. "Th-that one was ssso t-totally written f-for you 'nd me."

"Hey. I'm twelve, you drove the car when you were ten and Dad still won't let me touch it."

"D-duh, like he's dum-mb enough to tr-trust you with her?"

Sam stuck out his tongue and turned back to the book. "On garden furniture: 'keep away from damp and sunlight.' On a box of sleeping pills: 'may cause drowsiness' – unless of course you are John Winchester where it will take two full boxes of pills before drowsiness occurs."

Dean chuckled. "U'less'ee 'as w-whiskey. Th-then all h-he nee-eeds is h-half a b-baby aspri-in."

Sam giggled back "I won't repeat that."

"Th-th-thanks."

"On a milk bottle: 'after opening keep upright.' Hey, but a Dude has to pour it somehow unless you're selling straws too. On a bag of peanuts: 'this product contains nuts' yea think...? On a water heater: 'if building in which heater resides is on fire, do not go into building'."

"Th-that is S-SO nn-not a real w-w-warning." Dean scoffed.

"On a mattress: 'Do not attempt to swallow'."

"D-dang, I was s-so looking f-forw-wards t-to trying that-t." Dean shivered in a pitifully weak attempt at snark.

"Yeah. Me too, what a letdown. On a garden hose: 'May cause cancer in California.' There is NO way I am ever going to use a hose in California! On an iron: 'do not use on body.' Oh that just sounds painful." He chuckled again and started to thumb through some more pages.

"S-sammy." Dean croaked from the shadowy folds of the blanket. The sun had finally fully set and Sam had only turned on the lamp.

Sam shot up to Dean's side. "Yeah?"

"C-can, you g-get me m-more ch-choco-late? Mm'cold." His arms were tightly curled around his chest under the blanket and Sammy felt a pang of fear wrack his body. If Dean was sick, if Dad didn't come…

He hastily scooted off the bed and ran to the kitchen before remembering that he and Dean had drunk the last two packets. _Drat, why did I drink it? I wasn't even cold._

He shoved the mug of water into the microwave and set it to heat.

A few minutes later he anxiously shoved the mug of hot water into his brother's shaking hand. "I don't kn-now w-why I-I c-can't warm up-p." He grouched and wrapped his trembling hands around the mug. "Iss not-t f-fair."

Sammy shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched Dean slosh hot liquid across himself as he tried to drink.

"s'not ch-o-colate." He muttered unhappily.

"None left. You want me to read you some more?" Sam asked hopefully. He hated feeling useless but there was nothing he could do.

"S-sure out of-f th-that s-silly b-book?"

"Yep." Sam exclaimed and clambered back onto the bed lying out to read.

"Here this one is called 'The Wright Stuff'. Funny saying and wisdom from a guy named Wright apparently. 'Do Lipton Tea employees take coffee breaks?' haha! Here this one you should remember in the future. 'I was stopped for going 53 in a 35-mph zone, but I told them I had dyslexia'."

Dean snorted at him.

"How about this. A pun right up you ally. 'If you saw a heat wave, would you wave back'?"

"l-lame." Dean shivered.

"Yeah! Oh here is one for Dad. 'When I was crossing the border into Canada they asked me if I had any firearms on me. I said, Well, what do you need?'" Sam chuckled to himself "You'll like this one. 'If a person with multiple personalities threatens suicide, is it considered a hostage situation?"

Dean cracked a weak grin. "s'good."

Sam watched him shake for a few minutes and looked desperately back down at the book. Dean wasn't warming up. That might have something to do with the crappy heater… "Hey, these are 100 percent honest headlines. 'Massachusetts woman has eye on Kerry's seat."

That got Dean to snort. "g-good one."

Sammy was elated to have cheered Dean if even for a moment. "Man killed over phone.' Or 'Passengers feeling airline crew cuts." Sam snickered. "Abusive airline crews... who knew? 'Waterskiing accident ruled accidental.' 'Police man shoots man with knife.' 'Miners refuse to work after death.' 'Men who make inappropriate advances should be exposed."

Dean's eyes leapt to Sam and he started to laugh. "Th-that's b-bad." He wheezed before breaking down in full body coughs. Sam dropped the book and jumped to Dean's side. His hands found purchase around the heaving body until Dean quieted and slumped against him.

"I want Dad." Sam whimpered sounding all of four-years-old in his own ears. Dean nodded weakly but didn't answer.

"Do you want water? Hot water? More clothes? I could try to coax more heat out of the air unit. Dean?"

"m'good." Dean muttered listing against Sam's wiry frame. Even though he was five-six and a half, he was still lanky and in no way strong enough to support Dean's stocky solid frame. He shuffled until he was resting against the headboard next to Dean.

"Okay, I'll keep reading." He told his brother. Dean nodded again, more out of habit than awareness, and closed his eyes tipping towards Sam's shoulder.

"We should try these games sometime, Dean. 'Sniff test: so all you need is a four inch tissue. Players stand nose to nose. One keeps the tissue stuck to his nostrils by stiffing in. The other tries to capture the tissue by sniffing it away. After thirty seconds, whoever has the tissue wins.' That is a terrible game."

"m'gonna ma'you play it." Dean murmured where he sat still shivering slightly, head resting on Sam's shoulder.

"No way! This one is called un-thumb heroes: you are supposed to tape one of your fingers to your thumb. Then you see if you can accomplish basic tasks like tying your shoes or writing or wrapping something. First to finish wins.' That would be fun."

"mmm." Was all the response he was given.

"Hey this page has something called 'looney laws'. 'It is against the law to slap a man on the back in Georgia.' Weird. "In Portland, Maine it is illegal to tickle a girl under the chin with a feather duster."

Dean cracked open an eye and looked skeptically at the page. "M'so gonna do th-that."

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean was such a dork. "By law, restaurants in Kansas may not serve ice cream on cherry pie."

"Tha'l-law s-sucks." Dean grunted.

"No kidding. 'Unrestrained giggling on the street is illegal in Helena, Montana' and 'in Seattle it is illegal to carry a concealed weapon that exceeds six feet in length." Dean should have been all over that, but he was silent. Sam gingerly poked Dean's arm. At least he wasn't trembling anymore.

"Dean." The twelve-year-old hissed. "Dean." Dean had completely collapsed and wasn't moving. Sam pressed his hand to his brother's face. It was chilly to touch. "Dean, you're scaring me." Sam wriggled out from under his brother and sat back, the book forgotten.

"Dean." He pulled back the quilt. Dean's chest was chilly to touch too. "Wake up!" he ordered in his most dad like voice.

Dad.

"Dean, I want Dad." He whispered curling into his brother's side. "Please wake up." Sam curled into a little ball of misery. He couldn't warm or wake Dean, and Dad was MIA – Sam was feeling particularly helpless. Should he call 911? He had absolutely no idea what to do.

That is until he heard the familiar growl of Dean's favorite car in the world. Flinging himself off the bed and snatching up the shot-gun, he waited listening for his father's heavy tread. The clock read eleven ten.

A scratching sound announced the key and his father blustered in in a flurry of snow and frigid air. Sam was in his arms before the door was closed. His shaggy head pressed against the smooth leather jacket and his slender arms wrapped around his father's waist.

John's heart rate spiked at the unusual display of affection from his youngest. They were butting heads a lot of the time, so when he arrived three days late, he had certainly not expected an armful of trembling son.

Shutting the door, he locked it, dropped his duffle by the table, and kicked off his boots, all while juggling Sam. "Hey Tiger, why the warm welcome?" He rumbled tilting Sam's face up towards his own.

"Dean's-" Sam started when Dean himself finished the explanation.

With a hoarse shout he tumbled off the bed and onto swaying feet. The light of the lamp shone against his now sweaty skin where he stood reeling blindly between the beds. "Sammy." He called out harshly before doubling over in a fit of coughing. Sam wrenched away from his stunned father and caught Dean's listing form.

"Gonna – be – sick." He gasped out between coughs. Sam's eyes went wide. Shoving away with more force than necessary, Dean stumbled for the bathroom, tripping over the foot of the bed and sliding towards the crappy motel carpet before his father caught his arms. His business face was on as he half-carried Dean to the bathroom and guided him into a poorly controlled kamikaze for the toilet.

"Dad?" Sam cried helplessly from the room. John lingered for a moment to make sure Dean was aware enough to know where he was. Dean glanced up at him through glassy eyes and retched painfully.

Satisfied for the moment of Dean's awareness, John slipped back out and met his youngest's eyes levelly. "What happened, Tiger?"

"Dean, he – he went out to run." Sam replied, eyes still glued to the bathroom door.

"In _this _weather!" John's quick eyes took in the soggy boots, dripping jacket and hat, the discarded jeans at the foot of the bed and the shirt resting in its own puddle in the kitchen. "Sam, it is ten degrees out there and snowing."

"He went earlier, it was warmer at three." Sam replied.

"How long was he out?" John asked mentally calculating the temperature Dean had gone running in.

"An hour. He was back by four. Is he alright?"

"He is a damn sick boy right now." John replied. Dean had finally quieted in the bathroom, no sound could be heard but the harsh panting whistles of struggled breathing.

Dean had left at three when the temperature was twenty six degrees. By three thirty the radio weather had declared that a cold front had come through and the temperature was plummeting. John could vividly remember the weatherman's warning to stay indoors due to rapidly deteriorating weather. The temperature had dropped the eighteen degrees by three thirty-five. By four o'clock, Dean's return time the temperature was twelve degrees.

John scrubbed a hand over his face and drew a deep breath.

"Dean?" he called through the door after five minutes of mostly silence. He cracked open the door – Dean had collapsed unconscious, slumped on the cold tile and panting heavily. His bare chest was drenched in sweat but he was shivering violently again.

Carefully John lowered himself a Dean's side and brushed his hand over Dean's face.

"Come on, Ace. Wake up." He pleaded with the silent young man. It took an abnormally long time to rouse him enough to help him rinse his mouth before he promptly passed out again, limp as a wet rag. John felt his son's forehead and chest anxiously looking for a possibly missed cause of the unusually violent fever. Dean's temperature had screamed past normal to one hundred three in twenty minutes, if their ancient thermometer was anything to go by.

With unusual tenderness, John scooped all five foot ten inches of his incredibly built, pitifully shivering son off the floor into cradle carry – an action that Dean would normally vehemently rebuff – and carried him to the closest bed to the door. Settling the limp body on the bed he turned to his own discarded bag and coat while Sam crept to Dean's side.

"Sam." John growled startling the twelve-year-old.

"Dad?"

"Grab your brother new pants. He has sweated through those." John ordered as his slipped off his dirty mucky outerwear and headed for the shower. "I'm gonna grab a shower."

Sam didn't bother answering. He dug around in Dean's bag before coming up with another pair of boxers and Dean's only other sweats. "Last pair of sweats, dad."

"When you get his off, toss them to me and I'll rinse them in case he needs fresh later." John called out before shutting the door.

Sam turned back to his brother, and for a second time that evening, slid his clothing off his body. There was a strange similarity to the previous time. The pants were soaked and the brother was useless, but this time, his body radiated heat instead of leaching cold. Sam slid the soft fabric of the boxers back up before he suddenly found himself wrenched painfully off his feet and across his brother in a surprisingly strong arm lock. Dean's glassy green eyes met his and he visibly relaxed. "S'm." he breathed and slipped back out again.

Rubbing his wrist gingerly Sam crawled back over his sprawled brother and flopped on the floor. "You are _really _difficult, you know that." He grumbled. Scooping up the sweaty clothes he scampered to the bathroom and tossed the pants at the moldy shower curtain. "Here, Dad." He shouted.

John stuck his dripping head around the shower-curtain and smiled at his kid. "Thanks. How's Ace?"

"He tried to kill me, but he is playing rag doll again." Sam returned exhaustedly. John chuckled. "Get in your night clothes kid, time for everyone to get some sleep." His head vanished behind the grungy fabric along with the pants.

Once again alone with Dean, Sam snagged the forgotten sweats and timidly slid them onto his brother. His eyes nervously watched his brother's hands.

Despite years of training in how to roll and dodge, he didn't fancy finding himself a second time on the receiving end of his older brother's steely grip. Dean was only sixteen, but he had won bar fights already and Sam was not even half his weight, let alone bulk.

He shuffled to his own bed and crawled in. After a while John exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam and strolled to Sam's side.

"Happy New Year, Sammy." He said gripping Sam's shoulder. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier."

"It's okay. Dean didn't think you would get here for a few days. The weather has not been conducive to driving." Sammy replied.

"Yeah, well, aint no winter storm that can stop me." John answered proudly.

Sam grinned and showed his Dad the books. "Dean bought me books, with his terrible taste as usual."

John chuckled flipping quickly through both and rolling his eyes, before handing them back. Sam sat up and flipped through to a page he had creased earlier.

"There is this one guy named 'Wright' who is a comedian and he had a couple sayings that reminded me of you. 'When I was crossing the border into Canada they asked me if I had any firearms on me. I said, Well, what do you need?'" Sam grinned at his father who laughed softly. "One more dad, you'll like this one. 'If a person with multiple personalities threatens suicide, is it considered a hostage situation?"

John laughed a little louder and glanced at his sick child. "I guess his taste isn't _that_ rotten."

"No. I kinda like it, but don't ever tell him or I'll never hear the end of it." John nodded and shook Sam's hand.

"Never ever." He promised. "Get some sleep, Tiger. You look completely wiped out."

Sam nodded and rolled over getting comfortable. John glanced at the clock. 12:34am it read. He flipped off the light between the beds and made his way around the room checking the wards and salt lines. Flipping open his journal, he finished his notes from the last hunt by the light in the kitchenette before calling it a night. Shot-gun behind the door, check. Gun under his pillow, soon to be a check.

Carefully he deposited himself on the bed beside Dean and stretched out on top of the covers. Gun joined bowie knife. One arm snaked around the slumbering Dean and lifted him up against John's chest. He nestled Dean's head securely on his shoulder and covered his son just enough to not fry the fevered child, but to hold the wracking shivers at bay as best as possible.

If Dean woke, if he coughed, if his fever spiked, if he so much as twitched, John would know it – that was why he was holding him, nothing sentimental or any crap like that, Dean would hate that.

Most of the hunters who knew him, though of him as a revenge filled, obsessed bastard who didn't deserve to be a father. He was rough, and harsh with his sons: drilling them and working them into hardened soldiers. But the truth was so much more complicated. Once, Bobby had asked why he pushed Dean so hard while seemingly sheltering Sam from the darkness. How could he explain that this had ceased to be a hunt for revenge and had become a hunt for prevention? Whatever the darkness wanted with his child, he – and Dean his perfect soldier – they had to stop it. The hunters were right, he was obsessed. He was rough and harsh. He pushed and drove his sons, especially the oldest, into the ground he worked them so hard. But they were wrong about one thing. He was and father and he loved his children. He would trade his life and spend eternity in Hell if that it was it took to save them. Evil be damned, no one was touching his kids.

With that thought, John tightened his grip and closed his eyes readying himself for a possibly long night of fevers and chills and who knows what else. Suddenly the bed at his feet dipped with added weight. His eyes shot open to meet the hazel brown of his youngest. Sam was trailing blankets with a pillow clutched to his chest. Had his thumb been in his mouth, John would not have found it surprising at that moment.

Tearful eyes, shaggy bedhead, flushed cheeks. All it took was lifting his arm, and Sammy propelled himself right into his side. Five minutes of shifting and snuggling into the pilfered blankets, Sam's hand crept cross his father chest and locked around Dean's wrist. Then he was out like a light.

On son cocooned under his right arm, the other sweating against his left. John closed his eyes with a smile. Tomorrow he was going to seriously examine the metal health of his stubborn, and to quote a friend, idjit, son. Going on a run in twenty and below weather? Ass. There was going to be a new rule instigated. But for now? It was New Year, and he was going to sleep while he had the chance.

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><p>So what do you think? Should I continue? I chose New Year for a reason and it will come into play if I keep this up. (Sam makes a New Year's resolution.)<p>

The book that Sam reads out of is a really book that is incredibly ridiculous. I was bored at my grandmom's house and found it in the bathroom. So I copied the best pages to use in this. Just thought it would be funny and the kind of spoof Dean might buy Sam. The second book will be used later.

Originally I wasn't actually going to make Dean get sick… whoops. But it worked so beautifully, and hey, Dean practically bounces. He rarely stays down for long.

I like John more and more the more I read. I am a huge fan of the Brotherhood AU by Ridley's and I love the way John is portrayed in those stories. Obviously in this story it is late and his son is hurt and the other is scared and there are no evil sobs around so he is showing a softer side than usual.

So I wanted to write something where Sam is basically a kid still, and not completely at odds with his father. Back when he still trusts him. If I keep writing stories in this storyline, there is a definite time when he discovers that John is not the most powerful or safe person. But here, he still trusts his father.

Sam trusts John, but Dean's word is gospel. Sam loves John, but Dean he worships.

Thanks lovies,

Review PLEASE! It's the least we writers ask for.

~Kiliana


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